


Possible (36/39)

by Mexta



Series: Possible [36]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, post-412
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:02:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mexta/pseuds/Mexta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The next morning</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possible (36/39)

The next morning Ian seemed oddly circumspect, stepping aside to let Mickey get into the bathroom first, pouring coffee for him, watching quietly as Mickey pulled up a chair at the dining table.

"What’s this?" Mickey asked gruffly, when Ian set a bowl of cereal down in front of him.

Ian glanced at the bowl, then handed Mickey a spoon. “Your breakfast. Want some toast?”

Mickey frowned over his spoon as Ian went back to the kitchen and busied himself with bread and the toaster. When he came back to the table with a plate of buttered toast, Mickey grabbed his arm.

"I ain’t mad at you, Ian."

Ian paused for a second, then sat down in the chair beside Mickey and gave him a little smile. “I know.”

"Then what you acting like this for? Since when do you wait on me?”

"What, I can’t make breakfast for my man one time?"

Mickey made a wry face. “You can make me breakfast any time. Where’s those banana pancakes, huh?”

Ian jumped up from his chair. “You want pancakes? I can — “

“ _Ian_.” Mickey caught Ian’s wrist and pulled him back. “Come on, man. Quit it. You’re acting like I’m some kinda king.”

This time Ian broke out in a real smile, the one that made him look like the sun. “You’re my hero, Mick.”

That made Mickey laugh, and a second later Ian’s hand was on the back of his neck, tilting his face up for a kiss. They were alone in the house, as far as Mickey could tell, so he didn’t mind kissing back.

When they broke apart Ian settled back in the chair beside him, still grinning a little. “Wanna know the truth?” he asked

"Sure." Mickey took another spoonful of cereal.

"Maybe I kinda liked the way you were bossing me around last night."

Mickey choked on milk and Cheerios. “Fuck you, man!” he spluttered. “I wasn’t — I wasn’t … “ He stopped, partly because he needed to breathe, and partly because he remembered the night before. “I mean,” he went on more quietly, “I was just … “

But Ian didn’t look mad. At all. “You were barking out orders like a drill sergeant.” He bumped Mickey’s knee with his own under the table. “I gotta say, I kinda like the new dominant Mickey.” 

Mickey stared, wondering if he was hearing right.

Ian reached down and squeezed Mickey’s thigh. “I think it’s turning me on.”

For a moment Mickey couldn’t move. They hadn’t done anything the night before - just spooned, curled up together, and Mickey had fallen asleep almost instantly, drained from the rush of emotions.

Now they were alone in the house, still not dressed, and he couldn’t help but drop his gaze down to the front of Ian’s shorts. _Holy shit_.

Mickey set his spoon down carefully and cleared his throat. “Well, uh … if I was gonna give you any more orders, Gallagher … ” he began, watching Ian carefully, “I’d prob’ly tell you to quit talkin’ about toast and pancakes and get ready to start bangin’.”

He held still, tongue in the corner of his mouth, waiting for Ian’s reaction. Which turned out to be a long slow smile, before Ian slid off his chair and onto the floor beside Mickey.

"Ian — "

But Ian ignored him, just reached for the legs of Mickey’s chair, and, with surprising strength — or perhaps it shouldn’t have been so surprising — simply swung the chair around so that Mickey was facing him. And then pulled down the waistband of Mickey’s shorts and dropped his head to take Mickey’s quickly swelling dick in his mouth.

"Holy shit, Ian — "

The warm, wet suction was almost too much. Mickey gripped Ian’s forearms and arched backward, mouth open soundlessly. _How long has it been_ — ? he wondered; and then, _how long can I last_? He brought his hands up to clutch Ian’s hair as Ian began a series of long, forceful slides, up and down the length of his shaft.

"Jesus, Ian," Mickey said almost frantically, trying to push him away. "I can’t — what — Is this how you wanna … ?"

"No," Ian lifted his head with a smile that was almost smug. "I wanna get on you. That okay?"

“ _Okay_?” Mickey repeated disbelievingly.

Ian laughed, climbing back to his feet, and grabbed Mickey’s hand. “C’mon. Let’s go.” He led the way back to the bedroom, and Mickey only had time for a split-second of surprise before he threw all rational thought away in the delirious knowledge that at long last this was really going to happen.

 

***

 

And it did happen, finally, blissfully, with single-minded focus and a minimum of discussion and, thankfully, no interruptions. Of course neither of them had enough stamina to make it last more than a few minutes, so the whole thing was over before Mickey had much chance to register it. 

Afterwards he lay on his back, so sluggish and satisfied it seemed like too much effort to open his eyes. When he eventually did he saw Ian sitting up against the headboard, smoking and looking down at him with a sly grin before glancing away.

Mickey groaned a little and reached for the cigarette. “Man, I forgot how, uh … _enthusiastic_ you are, Gallagher.”

Ian smirked, and then looked slightly apologetic. “Too fast? Maybe I should’ve — “

"Nah." Mickey cut him off, stretching out to pat Ian’s stomach vaguely with a languid hand. "It’us good." He yawned and passed the cigarette back. "We can drag it out next time."

When there was no response, Mickey turned his head slowly to look at Ian. “Right? There gonna be a next time?”

Ian exhaled slowly. “Hope so, Mick. But you know I can’t guarantee being ready whenever you want it. Never know what’s gonna happen anymore.”

“‘S’okay.” Even in the haze of afterglow, Mickey could feel an urgent need for Ian to understand. “No pressure. It’s worth waitin’ for.”

The mattress seemed to sag beside him, and Mickey thought he could hear Ian let out a silent breath. For a few minutes they lay on the bed together, in silence.

"Mickey?" Ian asked finally.

"Yeah?"

"You ever think about leaving?"

"What — you mean, like, leaving the southside?" 

"Yeah."

Mickey rolled over toward Ian and looked up at him, frowning. “I dunno man. I never thought it was … possible.”

"Mandy’s going to."

Mickey chewed on the inside of his cheek for a minute. ”She says she is.”

"She will." Ian turned his gaze from the window to Mickey’s face. "She can do it, you know."

"I used to think that about you," Mickey said slowly. "I mean, before you got sick. I used to think anything was possible for you." 

"Maybe it still is."

Mickey grabbed his arm. “I didn’t mean it like — “

"I know." Ian tugged with the arm in Mickey’s grip. "C’mon. I’m starving."

"Yeah," Mickey said with relief. "What about them pancakes now?"

"Fuck that. Not cooking for you."

"Hey," Mickey protested. "What happened to you likin’ bein’ bossed around?"

Ian swung around with sudden force, pushing Mickey backward and rolling on top of him. In a second Mickey found himself pinned to the bed, staring up into intent hazel eyes.

"I’ll let ya know when I want to be bossed," Ian said.

Mickey lifted an eyebrow, then put his hands on Ian’s forearms and rolled him over so they could both get up. “Sounds fair to me,” he said.


End file.
